Pitched Overboard
by MoonKent
Summary: Pitch somehow ends up in the ocean depths with no voice, facing an overly ambitious Sea-Witch. And no, he doesn't appreciate any Little Mermaid comparisons. He is the Nightmare King, after all! (From the Pitch World-Hopping series; sequel to 'How Not to Pitch an Offer' and 'Pitching a Fit')


**This is Part 3 of the Pitch World-Hopping series. Though you can read this alone, it will make much more sense if you read the first two stories that go with it: **** and _Pitching a Fit_. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians or The Little Mermaid. If I did, I would change which movie had a sequel (and said sequel would be proper and not a mere repeat of the same storyline). **

* * *

After what felt like ages of walking (although, admittedly, he supposed that he _ought_ to be used to it by now), Pitch finally found himself out of the cursed Halloween Town graveyard and far away from its equally disagreeable inhabitants. Unfortunately, he still had no idea of exactly where he was. He sat down on a convenient rock to assess the situation. How had he made it home after the first involuntary trip, the one to the frozen winter land? He wasn't entirely sure, only that it had involved a lot of cold trudging through snow. He'd been nearly frozen solid again by the time he'd realized that he had somehow arrived back to his underground lair.

He'd reached this land by falling down a hollow tree. However, he rather doubted that he could reverse that circumstance and magically fall _up _one, even if he could find where he had come out.

Lost in thought, he almost didn't notice when the rock underneath shifted slightly. He started to throw his best Boogeyman glare down at it when it suddenly tilted crazily, dumping him down a dark tunnel, and which absolutely did not cause him to let out a startled squawk or land in an undignified heap at the bottom.

Seriously, hadn't he gone through enough trouble?

He tried to sit up, but found himself unaccountably confined by several close walls. His surroundings were black as…well, him, and even for his nocturnal senses, it was too dark to see anything. It rather felt like he was encased in…a box, of some type.

Pitch could feel his rage building. Who would dare attack him like this? He was Pitch Black, the Nightmare King!

If only he had the strength to teleport out of the box, he would show this new enemy a thing or two!

He shouted and banged on the walls for several minutes, but only succeeded in hurting his hands. Grumbling, he sat back and made himself as comfortable as the situation would allow, plotting the vengeance he would wreak once he finally escaped.

At some point, forever later, when Pitch's limbs had thoroughly cramped up, he felt the box move and shift. He instantly began shouting and demanding answers for this demeaning imprisonment, but to no avail. Silence and darkness were his only replies.

Eventually, the box settled down again, only to be replaced by a new motion. A sort of up and down, rolling motion. Like…the sea!

_Great. Just what I wanted: an ocean cruise._

What had his life come to?

* * *

At first the motion of the waves was constant, but surprisingly soon, it sharpened and grew rougher. _What kind of idiots would set sail right into a storm?_ he wondered.

Suddenly, his head came up and he sniffed sharply. Was that…?

Yeeeessss…The delicious scent of pure, unfiltered, fear and terror. He inhaled deeply, feeling it flow through him and his strength returning once more. Ha! They would see his power now! They would all rue the day when they sought to trap the Nightmare King!

With ease now, he teleported out of the box and onto the deck of the unsteady ship (and ignored any cramping there might be in his leg). Sailors raced from one end to the other, desperately trying to keep it under control as the storm began to rage in earnest. Lightning flashed disturbingly close, causing several of the men to cry out. Pitch spread his arms wide, reveling in the moment. Now he would show them something worth cowering for!

"I am Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, and you will fear me!" Though they couldn't see him, they could feel the subtle difference in the thickness of the air, the darkening of shadows into something impenetrable, the oppressive weight of their own hidden horrors brought to life. Each one began to shiver and shake, to steal furtive glances over shoulders and into corners, to clutch with trembling hands at ropes and rigging as if their lives depended on it.

All this combined with the fierce storm about him, and Pitch felt more alive than he had since…well, since that minor setback with those-whom-he-refused-to-name. With a dark laugh, he raised his hands, calling for his Nightmare Sand. From over the sea, it dropped through the clouds, swirling around him and pooling beneath his feet, lifting him up over the deck. "Not so brave now, are you, weakling mortals?" he mocked.

Suddenly, there was a series of alarmed shouts, pointing up at him. Could it be…were they actually…seeing him? Pitch could hardly dare hope. But what else could they be pointing at?

He found out a split-second later, as a tremendously large and shockingly cold wave slammed into him, knocking him off his sandy perch and down into the dark depths.

The universe had it in for him. He could tell.

* * *

His waterlogged robes pulled him surely and steadily down to the ocean floor. Thankfully, being a spirit and all, Pitch couldn't drown, but the entire situation was ridiculously uncomfortable, and not at all to his liking. Though really, what _was_, these days?

A portion of the Nightmare Sand that he had conjured drifted down with him, though with this level of saturation, it could be referred to more appropriately as Nightmare Mud. He tried to gather it together to lift him back to the surface. He might as well have not bothered. It did respond, but only sluggishly, unable to form the necessary cohesive tension to lift his weight.

He ground his teeth together and opened his mouth to let a few choice words escape (not fit for children's ears, but it wasn't like there were any actually around). And discovered yet _another_ disquieting aspect of his situation: while he didn't need oxygen to survive, he apparently needed it to speak. And he'd used it all earlier when he'd first been swept under, and had let out a few bubbles worth of indignant protests; though to whom, he didn't know, since the animosity of the universe had already been firmly established.

Great. Just great. Submerged, sinking, and mute to boot.

He wasn't sure how long he endured his downward spiral (and he was _not_ referring to his emotional state), when he became aware of some type of structure below him. Was he finally nearing the ocean floor? As the object gradually solidified in the dim light, he realized it wasn't some artificial construction at all, but a skeleton. Dead, thankfully, unlike the last one he'd encountered in Halloween Town. Quite large, too. Large enough that one could actually make a dwelling inside, if one's tastes ran that way.

* * *

Which, apparently, someone's did. A corpulent half-octopus, half-humanoid creature to be exact, seated in front of a mirror, smiling deviously as she spoke to a pair of electric eels floating by her side. Something about everything going according to plan, and how she would soon rule the oceans, blah, blah, blah.

So, a villain then. Pitch wasn't sure if this was good or bad. Given that his previous two encounters had been with one misunderstood character and one heroic lead, a straight-up villain would be a nice change of pace. On the other hand, villains were rather notorious for looking out for their own self-interest above all else, and were not particularly trustworthy.

After all, hadn't he been something of a master at it?

At that moment, the creature caught sight of him. "Ah, what have we here? A guest?" She...well, he wouldn't say _swam_, but she managed to propel herself toward quite quickly. "Lurking in the shadows? That's a bit rude, wouldn't you say, my dear?"

Pitch drew himself up as best he could, given his state. He was the Nightmare King! Lurking was his right and specialization. He opened his mouth to let her have a piece of his mind, but of course, no sound came out, and he managed nothing more than the impression of a fish, opening and closing his mouth like some guppy.

Ursula laughed again, a deep-throated burst that made her entire torso bobble unpleasantly. "If you were hoping to trade a voice for my help, you've put on quite a poor performance! Thankfully for you, pickings have been quite good the past couple of days, and I have no need of one at present." She guffawed again, rubbing a glowing shell necklace at her throat possessively. "I'm afraid you'll have to pick a different commodity, my dear."

Pitch scowled and glared. At least _that_ still worked underwater. Though it was woefully ineffective. Seriously, if he ever made it back home, he was going to find _some_ way to obtain a look that could kill. She swooped closer and he instinctively moved to step away, but the water pressure slowed his movement to a bare hop, much to the creature's amusement. "Not used to the water, are we?"

Rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth at the indignity, Pitch attempted to pantomime his situation. He was from the surface and wished to return, and she needed to help or else fear the consequences!

Though he wasn't sure that that last part had been communicated clearly.

But apparently enough of the point had gotten across. "Oh, you poor unfortunate soul!" she crooned mockingly. "Have you any idea who it is you're dealing with?" She moved closer, uncomfortably so. He tried to swat her overly familiar hands away, but once again, underwater pressure slowed his movements by a ridiculous degree. Honestly, at this point, why did he even bother?

Oh, yes. Because he was Pitch Black, the Nightmare King.

He really needed to bolster his reputation.

* * *

Though he allowed the Sea-Witch named Ursula to monologue at him for a while, at length Pitch decided that she was becoming rather insufferable, and prepared to be on his way. (Not that he knew where he was headed, but for now, he'd settle for _away_.)

Unfortunately, he and the Witch did not see eye to eye on the matter. "Ah, ah, ah, dear, where do you think you are going?"

He gestured vaguely.

"I'm afraid that I can't let you leave." Her grin widened maliciously. "Not only have you heard my plans, but I think that you would make a rather lovely addition to my garden."

Her what? Pitch must have heard wrong. But before he had the chance to protest, she sent a swirl of light his way, which whipped him around like an underwater tornado. When the water finally settled, he was shocked to find himself limbless and stuck to the ground like a, a...piece of seaweed!

Oh, he had had it now! She would feel his wrath!

Except...he found himself rather unable to do anything.

Well, this was downright disagreeable. (Hadn't he used that word already?) This exactly was why villains were not to be trusted!

Above him, Ursula chuckled again. "I was wondering if that would work. I've never tried it on a land spirit before. And usually, to work on an ocean creature, they had to have broken some type of contract with me first." Her gaze hardened. "But that will soon change. Well, I must be off. Enjoy your stay."

With that, she turned and disappeared into the depths of her skeleton cave.

Pitch gaped. How, _how_, **how **could this happen? To _**him**_! And now he was even less than powerless! He couldn't even pace back and forth. At least he'd had that in his lair.

His life stunk.

* * *

He didn't know how long he stayed that way. Ursula never once returned to see him (not that he wanted her to), although at some point he heard her cackling before she disappeared from the cave completely.

A while later, after he'd been concocting his fourteenth plan of revenge, he realized that something was happening. He looked around as best as he could and realized that some form of glowing giant fork was descending slowly through the depths. As it passed by the cave, he felt another sudden whirl of glowing magic, which not only restored him to his own glorious body, but suddenly propelled him to the surface in a tremendous rush.

He popped free of the depths like a cork, and bobbed on the surface for a while, trying to get his bearings. He didn't know quite what had happened (usually things like this occurred when the spell-caster had been killed...which sort of defeated his epic plans of revenge), but in any case, he wasn't going to argue. He was ready to be home, on solid dry land.

If only there was some in sight.

Great. So now he was stuck _swimming _home.

Well, at least it beat walking.

* * *

**A/N: **_So, I hope that you enjoyed part three! If anyone has any ideas for where Pitch should go next, let me know!_


End file.
